Taken For A Ride
by roumiwrites
Summary: Human!Impala/Impala!Cas AU. One night, Sam disappears without a trace. The morning after, Dean has only one thought in mind: find his brother back. But how is he supposed to do that when instead of his beautiful baby all he finds is a naked man lying in the middle of the parking lot? Dean/Cas and Sam/Lucifer.


_Taken For A Ride_ **by** _AM Radio_** is a song I freaking loved when I was in high school and after recently hearing it again... this little thing suddenly popped inside my head. It's a song about a porn star but my story has nothing to do with that (oh no, don't be disappointed!). It was more the title of the song that gave me the inspiration. **

**So, this is a human!impala fic, wherein Castiel is an angel who has fallen but still has some powers left, and in order to stay hidden from the angry angels (sent after him to bring him back to Heaven dead or alive), he's decided to take the form of something so human and unnoticeable that angels would never look at it twice (wow, wow, what were the odds that he chose to become a 1967 Impala? It's insane, right? The amount of ****_luck_****). I picture it like what happened in Men in Black 1 or 2, I'm not sure right now which one it was, where the alien saw a magazine of sexy lingerie and decided to take the form of one of the models. Well, it seems like Cas stumbled upon a magazine about cars; hurrah for unbelievable coincidences!**

**And as it's set somewhere before 4x04, and as I don't remember much from this season, it means that I'm probably going to take many liberties with the canon, and to already state it here: no, Dean hasn't been rescued by Cas (obviously). He's been saved from Hell, yes, but by some unknown/unimportant angel, and no, there's no handprint left on him 'cause ain't nobody allowed to leave love marks on Dean except for Cassie, 'kay?**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy the weirdness. Unbeta'd because of reasons (the reasons being I don't have the courage to look for one, sorry)**

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Warnings: _unhealthy SamDean co-dependency (NOT Wincest), __bamf!Cas, tattooed!Cas, dub-con groping aaaaand... impala!porn, whatever that means. (PS: it means I'm spending a big-ass amount of time describing the car and then comparing it to Cas and vice versa. You'd not believe the amount of car magazines and websites about cars and motors I had to read for this little piece of dumb writing. ugh. Also PLEASE, EXCUSE ALL THE MISTAKES I PROBABLY MADE WHILE DESCRIBING IT, because I honest to God don't know the first thing about cars, even less so in English. My dad's the actual hardcore fan, not me *repeated facedesk*)_

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**Some things that people who aren't natives maybe won't get (I personally had to check):**

**mph = miles per hour**

**427 = I think it's a type of engine/motor, from what I've gleaned from different websites.**

**fender = that metallic thingie that frames the wheels of a car**

**also how do you even lock the Impala? From what I saw in pictures, it's manual? But how are they doing it in the show? *makes the no-clue shrug***

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There was no better feeling in the world than driving a beautiful car in the heart of the night, with miles and miles of deserted road ahead.

As he was taking a smooth curve in the road, Dean threw a quick look at the passenger seat and couldn't help his fond smile at the view of his brother sleeping beside him, cheek pressed flat against the window, snoring softly. He always said that the sound of the engine was like a lullaby to him and sometimes Dean found that thought extremely sad, because it reminded him that Sam had spent his whole childhood sleeping in crappy motel rooms or sprawled on the backseat of their father's car, and that as it had turned out, things hadn't gone any better now.

But there were also times when it made him strangely warm inside to watch his brother looking so peaceful in his sleep. A good and restful night's sleep had always been a luxury they couldn't afford as hunters, but the closest they had to that always happened on the road, inside the Impala. Sam and Dean both considered it as their safest place, even though logic kept reminding them there were places like Bobby's basement that offered far better protection.

But what they felt wasn't induced by cold logic. It was _guts_, it was pure _instinct_; it was the memories of all the times their salvation had resided in the speed of the Impala's engine, trusting the car to drive them away from the blood-thirsty monsters on their heels. The Impala never failed them once, and inevitably some kind of bond had started to forge itself between the Winchesters and what was, in fact, just a car. In their mind, it had become far more than that. It symbolized freedom, and safety.

Dean liked to call it '_baby_', just like his father before him for it was truly the most beautiful car he'd ever seen. But deep inside his heart, he called it '_home_', and everytime he looked at Sam's giant sleeping form beside him, watching the deadliest hunter he knew (beside himself) with his hard muscles relaxed, and his consistently worried face for once slack and soft, he knew his brother felt exactly the same. Even though Sam would never admit it out loud. Dean didn't know how it happened that the most sentimental of them (Sam) was the one who always claimed that being attached to inanimate objects was stupid. To what the less sentimental of them (Dean) always retorted that this wasn't '_dumb girlish sentimentalism_'. It was pride. Dean was proud of owning such a magnificent vehicle, and he wasn't ashamed of showing it. Hell, once he got started, he could brag for _ages._

When Dean's attention came back to the road, he noticed the board signaling their destination with a sigh of relief. Clear Creek County, Colorado. Not really the destination he's been dreaming of, but at least the weather agrees with him. Clear sky, dry air and no rain on the horizon. Only the outline of the Rocky Mountains far away in the distance.

Since his return from Hell, Dean had spent half of his time trying to convince Sam that he was alright and that his melon was 100% operational (even though he wasn't), and the other half trying to avoid Bobby's nagging for there was no way he could feed the old man the same lies he was serving his little brother on a daily basis. And the best way to avoid the latter, and settle (only to a certain extent) Sam's worry over him, was to keep hunting and pretend nothing had ever happened. That was the reason behind this trip. It wasn't anything dangerous, even, just some haunted house. But it had been a good excuse to get away from Bobby's house, and stay busy. As long as he was busy, Dean was able to forget, if only for a moment.

Sure, he had been to Hell and back. But that was just part of Dean Winchester's fucked up usual, wasn't it?

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel when he couldn't stop his thoughts from slowly wandering toward that part of his brain he was trying his damned best to keep locked up. Like a pierced oil trunk, his memories started leaking slowly like sharp drops of pain. It was a sensation — disgust at Alastair's vile touch... a smell — of drying blood, and grime, and burning flesh... and finally that numbness he had felt inside with every passing year, when he could feel himself loosing hope a bit more... a bit more... the demons, _his _demons, corrupting him slowly but surely until the day he finally gave _up__... _a trembling hand rising from where he was chained to the rack... bruised fingers reaching for the handle of the knife that was offered to him... Alastair's evil smirk... he had been _so _please with Dean that faithful day... the day Dean knew he'd lost a part of himself in the pit. And whatever brought him back, it sure hadn't been able to bring that part of him too. Dean could practically feel that emptiness inside of him like something physical... as if a real, _tangible _part of him, a _vital _part, had been left behind to rot.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, straightening himself in his seat and pushing all the memories back behind that door inside his mind before slamming it shut. He would think about this later, when he was trying to catch some sleep in his motel bed. Now he had to stay aware, or they were bound to have a car accident.

But with Sam sleeping, Dean had nothing to distract himself. If he was alone he would put the radio on and find some decent music. But after taking another peek at his brother, Dean couldn't bring himself to risk anything that could wake him up. Ever since he was back Sam's been so worried over him. Probably more than when he was still dead, Dean was ready to bet his right arm on it. The guy deserved some rest when he could catch it, and Dean wasn't going to sacrifice his little brother's health just to be able to listen to some music. He was a big guy. He was going to keep his nightmarish thoughts nicely locked up inside his brain and find himself something else to think about all on his own. He could do it.

They drove past another board, this one signaling a gas station with a parking, a motel and a restaurant that was less than 2 miles away.

Dean groaned with relief, rolling his head on his shoulders, groaning again as his stiff neck protested with a jolt of pain. He'd feared they weren't going to find a place to spend the night before he was too tired to drive. It had happened on many occasions in the past, and they had had no other choice but to find a parking and sleep inside the car. And while his car was nothing but amazing, Dean would always gladly take the crappy motel beds with the suspiciously smelling sheets and the even more suspiciously stained mattresses. Anytime. Everything was better than waking up on a car seat with a wry-neck and aching legs from spending a night in the same goddamn position in a sport car.

Because the Impala was exactly that, a sport car. The "SS" of _Impala SS_ stood for "Super Sport", after all. Not "Super Comfort". The leather and the fake chrome had their appeal because one was expensive and smelled good and the other was shiny and really fucking badass, but to sleep in that? No, thanks.

Dean put a hand on his thigh, slowly tapping it to the rhythm of some song, using the low vibration of the engine to control his beat, and rising his left hand to the middle of the wheel to have a better hold on it. Thinking of his baby always had the mysterious power to appease him, so he willed himself to think of nothing else but the way she was eating the road in front of him, and how the steering obeyed so smoothly to even the smallest jerk of his hand.

Ever since he was a teenager and his dad had allowed him to take his first ride with the Impala, Dean had felt like the car truly _defined_ him. The 1967 model wasn't as as decorated as the other Impalas. The other Super Sports had extravagant front and back fender moldings, and big shiny wheel covers that every showoff douchebag absolutely_ had_ to have in his garage in the late sixties.

His baby had another type of class. Her charm was all in the elegant callouts on her body, in the badass fender bulges and her curves that were much more pronounced than the other models, all of which made her impossible to ignore wherever he chose to drive her. If there was anything Dean possessed that he held dear, and would be ready to get inside a house on fire to save it, it was his baby.

And because he loved cherishing his beauty in Bobby's yard, whenever he and Sam would manage to catch a day off or two, after some minor repairs he'd also recently changed the original engine of the Impala and replaced it with a 427, the muscle car enthusiast inside him thrilled at the idea of speeding up his precious girl. The 427 reduced the vehicle weight by something around the lines of 70 pounds, and when he'd taken his baby for a test drive afterwards Dean had felt like he was fucking flying, the speed with which the car had gone from 0 to 60 mph in six seconds flat making it better than _sex._

Dean stepped on the gas pedal, the sound of the engine roaring under him pure music to his ears, the sudden rush of adrenaline to his heart making its beat erratic, but making him feel so deliciously _alive_. His blood was pumping through his veins, his heart was beating inside his chest, and his hand was gripping the steering wheel tightly just to feel the slight bite of the leather under his skin. He had missed those tiny sensations of your body just _working,_ like a well-oiled machine, never stopping for a moment. For instance, before his death, Dean hadn't paid much attention to his breathing. Even all the near-death experiences he'd had when he was a kid, still hunting with his father and his brother or sometimes all on his own, he He could feel the vibrations under his feet, coursing through his body and giving him a sort of connection to the car. After a quick look at Sam to make sure he was still in the land of Mr. Sandman, he stepped on the gas again and this time kept his foot there, watching the needle tremble right before it passed the speed limit, and for only a second Dean felt like the Impala was _fighting_ it. But then the moment was quickly forgotten when the car suddenly rushed forward with a loud rumble, making Dean's neck snap back against his seat, the leather creaking behind him as it gave under his weight. Dean couldn't understand why people nowadays liked their soundproofed cars so damn much. There was nothing better on Earth than making a car _roar _like a wild animal.

Grinning like he was five years old again, Dean kept that rhythm until he noticed a board and had to step on the brakes to have a chance to catch what was written on it, Sam groaning in his sleep beside him when his head hit his seat a bit too hard in result of Dean's sudden change of speed. The motel was right there at the next exit, waiting for them, and when he drove past the bright "vacancy" sign Dean's eyelids suddenly felt like lead, the tiredness finally making itself known now that he didn't need to remain as fully awake and functional. So Dean stepped into 'automatic' mode, taking the wheel in two hands again and maneuvering the car to the parking lot of the depressingly looking motel with his brain already starting to doze off.

He turned the engine off, and soon as the silence fell in the car he heard Sam shift on the passenger seat. Dean got out of the car and locked the door before going to the other side to knock at the window right against Sam's face.

"Where are we?" Sam grumbled through the glass, stroking his face before trading a hand through his hair.

"Somewhere outside of Clear Creek County, I guess. We'll see tomorrow. 'Found us a motel so get your sleeping beauty ass outta here, I'm not carrying your bag."

Sam groaned something Dean didn't catch but he was way too sleepy himself to care, so he just let his brother get out of the car while he was opening the trunk and, yes, taking both their bags. Sam didn't protest when he walked past him with a bag hanging from each shoulder, he was used to it after all this time. Dean wasn't doing it out of kindness or shit. It was just quicker that way. If he had to wait for his baby brother to go get his own and then drag it to the reception desk, they were never going to reach the motel in time to catch some sleep. Dean did it out of _practicalitly_. That was all.

So with one bag banging against his hip at each step and the other pressing the sheath of his hunting knife painfully against his other side, Dean made his way to the motel with his brother sleep-walking behind him.

Dean hoped the shower in their room had a decent water pressure, because now that he was outside of the car and the smell of leather wasn't surrounding him he could smell himself, and he smelled _really, really strong_.

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**To be continued, obviously. I'm planning something short, so I can also finish my other Destiel AU. I suck at finishing long stories, too tempted to abandon before the end...**


End file.
